A Wolf in the Fold

by Ralph Compton

  Ma knew. She had to know. But she did not tell them. At the funeral she held me close, her fingers digging into my shoulders. Thereafter, late at night, I would hear her sob and sniffle. I thought she was crying for my pa, but maybe she wasn’t. She became sad all the time. She never smiled. She would not eat. Gradually she wasted away until winter felled her with chills and fever, and by spring I did not have any parents at all.

  “Reverend Storm? Are you listening?”

  I snapped back to the here and now and realized we were near the ranch. I had not thought about my pa in a long time. I try not to. It’s hell when the first man you ever killed is your own father. “Sorry, ma’am. My mind wandered.”

  “I inquired as to which denomination you belong to.”

  Damn me for a fool. No one ever asked that before. “Denomination?” I stalled.

  “Yes. Are you Baptist, Methodist, Lutheran, what? Not that it makes much difference. Their beliefs are a lot alike, aren’t they? Although I do hear that some denominations let their ministers marry and some don’t.”

  I looked at her. No, it couldn’t be, I told myself. But she had me in a pickle if I picked one she knew more about than I did, which wouldn’t take much knowing. Then I remembered a real parson I met once. “I’m Presbyterian, Miss Modine.”

  “What a coincidence! So am I.”

  I wanted to rip out my tongue and stomp it to death. “You don’t say.”

  “Which group do you belong to?”

  This was getting worse by the second. I clutched at a straw she had unwittingly offered. “Does it make much of a difference?”

  “No, I guess it really doesn’t. Not to me, anyway. But the Old School and New School have been at odds with each other since before the Civil War. I never have approved of slavery, so I must be New School.”

  I was foundering in water over my head. The best I could do was say, “It’s a shame we can’t all live in peace and harmony.”

  Calista put her hand on my arm and smiled the sweetest of smiles. “If only everyone believed as you do, this world would be a wonderful place.”

  I had wriggled off the hook, but I was wary as I guided the team past a corral and stable to the broad porch that fronted the main house. Our dust had been seen from a ways off, so our hosts were out to greet us.

  Gertrude Tanner wore another splendid dress and had done things with her hair that softened the hard lines of her face. But she could not do anything about her eyes, which were the eyes of a bird of prey.

  Lloyd Tanner was not what I expected. He was short, for one thing, with shoulders that drooped, a wispy mustache, and lackluster blue eyes. Shaking his hand was like shaking a towel. He had no more vitality than a corpse.

  The son was another matter. Phil Tanner was as tall as his mother and had the same hard features. His mouth was not so much a mouth as a slit. When he shook my hand he tried to crush my fingers, but I gave as good as I got and he looked down in surprise. Right then I took a dislike to him, but I reminded myself that business was one thing and my personal likes another and I must not mix the two.

  “Reverend Storm, you honor us,” Gertrude sparkled, linking her arm with mine. “You must be thirsty after your long ride. Come inside. I will have the maid bring refreshments.”

  Not many ranchers’ wives had maids. As a general rule, the wives are usually as hardy as their husbands and do the cooking and housework themselves. That Gertrude did not said a lot about Gertrude.

  The house was not what I expected, either. Most ranchers were content with enough creature comforts to get by. The Tanners smothered themselves in plush carpet, mahogany furniture, crystal lamps, and the like. Walking into their home was like walking into the finest mansion. They had spared no expense. It made me wonder where the money came from. Savvy ranchers could reap high profits, but Tanner would need a spread five times the size of his to account for so lavish a spending spree.

  The parlor was as grand as that of a fancy sporting house I had been to last year in Denver. I practically sank into the cushions on the settee. I remembered to remove my hat and balanced it on my knee.

  Gertrude roosted in a straight-backed chair across from me. She gestured, and a maid came out of nowhere, a homely thing in her middle years who stood at attention as if she were a soldier in the army. Gertrude fired off several commands. The maid nodded and hastened out.

  Lloyd crossed his legs, then uncrossed them, then crossed them again. “I must say it is an honor to have you,” he said mildly. “The last preacher who passed through was ages ago and he didn’t stay long.”

  Phil Tanner broke his silence. Unlike the mousy squeak of his sire, his voice was the boom of a bull elk. “I doubt the collections plates were to his liking, Father.”

  “Now, now, son,” Lloyd said. “We shouldn’t speak ill of a minister.”

  “Why not? He uses the outhouse like everyone else.”

  Gertrude laughed merrily. “You must excuse my son, Reverend Storm. He always speaks his mind, but he does not mean anything by it.”

  “Oh?” was all I could think of to say.

  Phil frowned in annoyance. “I most certainly did, Mother, or I would not say it.” He smiled at me, as cold a smile as I ever received. “You must excuse her, Parson. Like most mothers, she thinks she knows everything.”

  “Phillip!” Lloyd exclaimed. “I will ask you to show more respect. Apologize for that unseemly remark.”

  The true state of the Tanner household was betrayed by Gertrude’s next remark. “Don’t make more out of it than there was. Phil adores me. He would never intentionally insult me.”

  “Of course not,” Phil agreed.

  “I still think it was rude,” Lloyd said meekly.

  Both mother and son regarded him as if he were a bug they would dearly love to squash, and Gertrude responded, “If I say he wasn’t, then he wasn’t. Honestly. I’m sure the parson did not come all this way to listen to us squabble.”

  She was bear fat and axle grease rolled into one, that woman. I smiled and said, “Never fear, Mr. Tanner. I expect to stay in these parts a week or two. There seems to be a great need for spiritual guidance.”

  “Oh?” Phil said with a hint of mockery.

  Calista defended me. “There was an incident in my restaurant today. Two of your cowboys confronted two of the Butchers.”

  “Which of my hands?” Lloyd asked. “I have given specific instructions that they are not to cause trouble. I will see to it they are punished.”

  Gertrude motioned with displeasure. “No, you will not. I commend them for having the gumption to stand up to those miserable cow thieves. And now the Butchers are killing our cows out of spite.”

  “We can’t prove they are to blame,” Lloyd said.

  “Who needs proof?” This from Phil. Evidently the mother and the son liked to combine their assaults on the father, the better to keep him in his place. “Were it up to me, I would wipe out every last member of that thieving family.”

  “Who knows, son? You might just get your wish.” Gertrude had icy twinkles in her eyes as she added, “The Lord works in mysterious ways.” She bestowed those twinkles on me.

  Chapter 4

  The meal was fit for kings and queens.

  We started out with a brandy toddy. I didn’t finish mine. Whoever made it added too much sugar and it was much too sweet. As I was to discover, that was deliberate. Gertrude Tanner had a hankering for sweets and favored foods that suited her craving. As we sat sipping and chatting at the long table in the dining room, she mentioned that after the meal she would like to show me around the ranch. I answered that would be fine.

  Next came fish chowder. The fish were from a stream that watered the LT. I can’t say as I cared for it either. I seldom ate fish growing up and never have had a taste for it. It didn’t help that they mixed in pieces of corn. The chowder smelled awful and looked like vomit.

  My appetite was about spoiled when they came to the main course. Or should I say courses?
You wouldn’t guess it to look at them, but the Tanners ate like hogs. There were slabs of beef. There was chicken with all the fixings. There was pigeon. I was partial to the calf’s head. Whoever boiled it had remembered to leave the wind-pipe sticking out. The brains were downright delicious. They had been mashed and mixed with bits of bread and sage.

  There were dodgers. There was coleslaw. There were vegetables. There was even a bowl of macaroni, which I found I liked a lot. There was pudding. There was sweet potato pie. Thankfully, there was piping hot coffee by the gallon to wash the food down.

  I overdid it. When I finally pushed the last plate back, I was fit to burst and feeling as sluggish as a snail in winter. I told the maid to relay my praise to the cook, and Gertrude mentioned that they had imported him from New Orleans. That was supposed to impress me, and it did with how much she loved money and the trappings that came with having a lot of it. Once again, though, I had to wonder how they could afford feeds like this. The LT wasn’t that big. I knew of other spreads in Texas that ran many thousands more head, yet the owners did not live in the grand style to which the Tanners were accustomed.

  Lloyd and Phil clipped and lit cigars. That was when Gertrude rose and invited me to take a stroll. Her husband did not seem to mind. Calista, though, gave me a strange glance.

  The air felt nice after the stuffiness. I stretched and allowed as how I could sleep for a week.

  “Sleep on your own time,” Gertrude said sharply. “I am not paying you to lollygag. I want them exterminated as quickly as it can be done.”

  “By them you mean the Butcher clan?”

  “Who else? They are rustling our cattle and I will not stand for it.”

  I leaned against a post and folded my arms. Horses were milling over in the corral, and at the cookhouse the cowboys were indulging in a noisy supper. “The two Butchers I met today claim they have had nothing to do with your missing cattle.”

  “Have you ever yet met a guilty man who didn’t profess his innocence?” was her counter.

  She had a point. It was a rare badman who admitted to being bad. Lynching bees are not all that popular with those being lynched. “There are women involved.”

  Gertrude gave me that pointed stare of hers. “So? You have killed women before, I understand.”

  “Once or twice,” I admitted.

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “I always like to be sure with women.”

  “I must say, I never expected you to be so particular,” Gertrude sniffed. “Killing is killing.”

  “If you think it’s so easy, do it yourself. Or have your husband and son do it. Or your cowhands.”

  “Be serious. The finger of blame must not point at the LT. Word might reach the Rangers and I wouldn’t want that.”

  She had another point. The Texas Rangers were a salty bunch. I would as soon be dropped in a pit of alligators as tangle with a company of Texas’s finest.

  “How soon can you get it done?”

  I looked at her. “Understand something. I don’t rush. Ever. Rush leads to sloppy and sloppy leads to dead. I will take as long as I need to take and not a minute less or a minute more.”

  She pursed her lips as if she had just sucked on a lemon and begrudgingly said, “Very well. Just don’t take too long. There are factors involved of which you are unaware.”

  “Then make me aware of them,” I said.

  “Personal factors. All that should concern you is the job and the money.”

  Among my peeves is being told what I should and should not be concerned about. “Speaking of which, I want five hundred dollars before I leave tonight or you can hire someone else. The rest is due after they are all dead.”

  “I will fetch your money shortly.” Gertrude placed her hand on my arm. “How long will it take? I hate to press you, but it is important.”

  I shrugged. “Two weeks, at the most.”

  “Surely not.”

  “There are nine of them,” I reminded her.

  “Couldn’t you just catch them when they are all in their cabin and blow them up?” Gertrude asked.

  And folks accuse me of being bloodthirsty. “I could if you want it to be in every newspaper in Texas. As it is, word is bound to spread. But I’ll be long gone, my trail so cold, not even the Rangers could track me down.”

  “I suppose you know best,” Gertrude said, but she did not sound as if she believed I did. “Is there anything you need?”

  “Just half of the money.”

  “Wait here.”

  I sat on the rail and pondered. Something about the job didn’t sit right with me, but I could not put my finger on what. Sure, Gertrude was pushy, but it was not unusual for those who hired me to want the job done quickly. Some even tried to tell me when and where I should do the killing. No, this was something else. I chalked it up to the fact I didn’t much like the Tanners. The husband was a lump of clay, the son thought he walked on water, and as for Gerty, she was tougher than most men. Maybe that was it. I generally like females more on the dainty side.

  As if that were a stage cue, out the door came Calista Modine. She wrapped her shawl about her slim shoulders and stood beside me, smiling. “I hope you don’t mind my joining you.”

  I was thinking of the five hundred. “Not at all,” I lied.

  “It’s the cigar smoke. I could do with fresh air.” Calista inhaled, her bosom swelling under the shawl. “It’s pretty here, isn’t it? The setting sun makes the Fair Sister look like a volcano.”

  The top of the mountain was bright with color. “Seen a lot of volcanoes, have you?” I joked.

  “Nary a one, Reverend Storm,” Calista replied. “But I have an imagination. Don’t you?”

  I couldn’t quite savvy why she was so testy with me. “Not much of one, no, I’m afraid. I like pretty things, but half the time I can’t say why I think they’re pretty. They just are.” Now what made me say that?

  “Did you enjoy the meal?”

  “If I ate that much every night, I’d be fit company for pigs,” I said, patting my gut.

  Calista had a nice laugh. “I wouldn’t want that to happen. But perhaps tomorrow night you will do me the honor of dining with me?”

  It never fails. Put on a parson’s rig and you become as popular as gold. I should have told her no. I had a job to do. “I would like nothing better.”

  We were grinning at each other like idiots when out stepped Gertrude Tanner. She had a poke in her hand, which she quickly slipped behind her back before Calista noticed. “Calista, my dear. When did you come out?”

  “A few minutes ago. The sunset is spectacular. I envy you so, living amid such beauty.”

  Gertrude followed Calista’s gaze. “To tell you the truth, I hardly ever notice. If you have seen one sunset, you have seen them all.”

  “A sunset doesn’t stir you?”

  “Not as much as a new dress. Or fine china. Or a gold necklace. Things I can touch and admire to my heart’s content. Things of lasting value.”

  “If that’s the case, I feel sorry for you, Gerty,” Calista said. “Man-made wonders can’t begin to compare to natural ones.”

  “That’s a matter of opinion, is it not? Some people regard, say, the Grand Canyon as a marvel. But to me it’s just a hole in the ground.”

  “You’re joshing.”

  “No, my dear, I am not. I do not fawn over waterfalls. I am not impressed by rainbows. The stars in the night sky do not make me feel romantic because they are, after all, just stars.”

  “I had no idea,” Calista said rather sadly.

  “Oh, please. You make it sound as if I should be pitied. But I assure you that I would rather be as I am than compose sonnets to the moon.” Gertrude shook with silent mirth.

  For some reason I resented her smug treatment of Calista. I wouldn’t know a sonnet from a horseshoe, but I butted in with, “If everyone thought like you did, this world would be a poorer place.”

  Gertrude was surprised, and I can
’t say I blame her. I was a bit surprised myself. “Don’t tell me that you, of all people, admire sunsets and the like?”

  “Why do you say that?” Calista came to my defense. “Why can’t a parson appreciate beauty?”

  Gertrude had blundered. When she said “of all people,” she was referring to my true profession. But she recovered nicely. “He’s a man first, a parson second, and the only beauty men care about is the kind they find under a woman’s petticoats.”

  “Gerty!” Calista exclaimed, scandalized.

  “Well, it’s true, and I’ll warrant our parson, here, will agree.” Gertrude looked at me as if daring me to dispute her.

  “You both made good points,” I said.

  Calista used that as a footstool to say, “I have another point to bring up. But it has nothing to do with what we have been talking about, and everything to do with averting bloodshed.”

  “Not this again,” Gertrude said. “It’s the Butchers, I take it?”

  “Yes. I have had an excellent idea.” Calista bobbed her chin at me. “Why not have Reverend Storm intervene? He could sit down with both parties and work things out.”

  “Are you suggesting I am incapable of working it out on my own?” Gertrude demanded.

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. After what happened in my restaurant today, I am worried that sooner or later one side or the other will pull a gun and go on pulling until one side or the other is six feet under.”

  “And what would be wrong with that?”

  Calista was shocked. “You can’t mean that, Gerty. The Butchers are not bad people. A little wild, yes. But not bad.”

  “A little wild?” Gertrude repeated scornfully. “Have you forgotten the last time the three older boys came to town? They got drunk and started a fight with several of our hands.”

  “Ty, Clell, and Jordy were only having a good time. They had a few drinks and got a little rowdy.”

  “You know them so well, you are on a first-name basis, is that it?” Gertrude carped. “Reckless is one thing, disregard for the law another. How you can stand there and side with them when you know as well as I do that they are rustling LT stock, is beyond me.”